


Here With You Tonight

by Meatball



Category: Free!
Genre: Angst, Explicit Language, Fluff, Infidelity, Kisumi doesn't give a shit, Kisumi is an enabler, M/M, Smut, SouMako - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-04-20 20:22:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4801010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meatball/pseuds/Meatball
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Makoto twists the silver band on his left ring finger absently. He’d thought about taking it off earlier. More than once. And even more when he found himself walking in into the club. Never once before today did he think that such a small thing would weigh so heavily. </p><p> </p><p>Makoto and Sousuke each seek some escape and solace in booze and find each other instead.</p><p> </p><p>The work title is taken from <a href="https://youtu.be/KSMgYQyiqjo">a Robert Palmer song.</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shade

Shade is _never_ not busy, a consequence of being one of the more popular gay bars in Shinjuku. Makoto is glad he got here early enough to snag a seat at the bar. He's got that going for him at least. He doesn’t have to suffer the weirdness of being alone in a booth or at a table. At least here, it’s perfectly okay to hang out by yourself. The place isn’t quite overflowing with customers just yet. The din is still low enough to have a conversation. Then again, it’s barely 9 on a Friday.

Makoto takes another long sip of his drink and relishes the sweet, creamy chocolate-coffee taste. This, at least, is a bit of comfort. And the alcohol doesn’t hurt, either. If one is to drown himself in his sorrows, then it might as well be death by alcohol-laced chocolate.

Makoto twists the silver band on his left ring finger absently. He’d thought about taking it off earlier. More than once. And even more when he found himself walking in into the club. Never once before today did he think that such a small thing would weigh so heavily.

* * *

“No hubby tonight, Mako?” Kisumi had asked when he ordered his drink.

“Nope. Just me. Makoto night out,” he’d responded cheerfully, trademark smile so easily stuck on his face.

He sat there, usual happy mask on, ignoring the churning in his stomach, the vise closing around his chest. Forget. He just wanted to forget. Shove this entire day into the recesses of his memory and destroy the brain cells holding them.

Kisumi’s eyes sparkled in mischief, not noticing -- or at least not mentioning -- anything amiss. “Is it now? Does this mean I can finally get you all to myself?” he winked.

The flirtation was nothing out of the ordinary for Kisumi but Makoto was about to surprise himself, realizing that he was actually entertaining the possibility. For a quick second, his brain flashed images and sensations to him that he would _vehemently deny_ ever having.

He couldn’t even begin to understand how, with the sudden shitstorm that was his life right now, he was even capable of being horny.

“Maybe,” Makoto replied, keeping up the playfulness while gathering himself and hoping Kisumi didn’t notice anything different. “Keep bringing me drinks and you _just_ might get what you want.”

“Ooh, I like those odds. Extra vodka on your mudslides then?” Kisumi winked again.

_Whew._

“Actually, yeah.” Makoto agreed immediately, nervous fingers running through perfectly disheveled light brown hair. Kisumi raised a curious eyebrow, but didn’t pry.

“Kisumi Special. Got it,” he confirmed with a grin and walked away to make the cocktail.

“What the fuck,” Makoto breathed out quietly, rubbing at his eyes. He wanted to go home and bury himself in his blankets and just cry but home didn’t feel like a good place to be right now. Not with their stuff and the smell of him everywhere. Certainly on those blankets. No. Shade was the best idea. Maybe he’d ask to crash at Kisumi’s tonight.

But not with this goddamn boner.

“What. The fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shortish intro. Makoto walks into a bar. 
> 
> Chapter 2 is MUCH longer.


	2. Strangers in the Night

Makoto gulps down another mouthful of if his drink. He’s been trying to settle himself down since he got here but it feels like he’s only made a little progress, despite two mudslides that were _clearly_ heavily-laden with alcohol and a jello shot that Kisumi insisted on having with him. The tightening in his chest actually kind of hurts more. And his brain hasn’t started shutting down like it normally does when he’s been drinking.

The short, non-descript man who has been seated next to him gets up to leave. Makoto glances over as he calls out to Kisumi, who’s finishing up an order for a customer at the other end of the bar. “See you next time, Kissy,” he says with a lilt and blows him a kiss. The pink-haired bartender blows a kiss back and throws the customer a radiant smile that travels right up to his blue-violet eyes.

“Alright, hon. See ya next week,” he hears Kisumi’s voice float back to him and the customer blends away into the growing crowd standing in line at the bar.

Almost immediately, another body fills the space. A forearm covered in black leather rests on the the edge of the bar and a deep voice asks Makoto, “Okay if I take this?”

Turning to its source, Makoto lays his eyes on a tall, broad, dark-haired -- black? brown, maybe? -- man whose turquoise eyes recall the Caribbean seaside. Makoto falls in love with the color immediately -- at least with the _idea_ of the color. Surely, eyes don’t actually exist in this hue and are the result of his overactive imagination. The lighting is dim enough to play tricks on him. No big deal. Still, Makoto finds them beautiful, maybe even more than Kisumi’s.

Unfortunate that they seem to be scowling -- not at him, no -- just in general.

Makoto takes another sip of his drink and nods in the affirmative, flashing a smile at the stranger. “Sure, go ahead.” He takes the quick second as the newcomer sits down to let his own green eyes give the stranger a once-over. He’s dressed in a black, cropped motorcycle jacket with a Mandarin collar and a pair of slim black jeans. Under the unzipped jacket is a white T-shirt emblazoned with the logo of some band he doesn’t quite recognize, just tight enough to show a hint of the chest muscles underneath.

“Yo, Kisumi,” the stranger nods at the bartender. Kisumi, still at the other end, doesn’t even look up, simply nodding in his direction and lifting a hand to return the greeting. “Whisky, water. Got it, Sou.” Makoto sees that Kisumi is already pouring the drink as he’s speaking.

_Huh. Guess he’s a regular, too._

Kisumi waltzes over with Leather Jacket’s -- Sou, was it? -- order. “Here you go, babe,” he says, handing a fancy glass of whisky and a glass of water and straw to the man, who grunts his thanks.

Kisumi squints at Leather Jacket and gives the man his own quick appraisal before asking, “You guys have another fight?” Leather Jacket only huffs in confirmation.

_Hrm. Friend, maybe._

Kisumi frowns and hums in disapproval. “Dammit, Sousuke. You two need to fucking get your shit together and talk to each other instead of running off like you do every fucking time.”

“Nobody asked you, Kisumi,” Leather Jacket counters, voice low and tight.

Kisumi gives him an exasperated sigh. “Look, man. I love you guys and really want you both to be happy and work out these...issues you’re having. I mean, come on, you’ve-- we’ve known each other since we were kids! I don’t want to be mean but you guys should probably have figured out how to do that by now.”

“Well, apparently, that currency is worthless these days,” he retorts, then adds more quietly after a pause, “Maybe he’s right.” He sounds pained.

Kisumi’s frown deepens but he says nothing else to Leather Jacket, choosing instead to just stare expectantly.

“Look, I don’t really feel like broadcasting my relationship issues to all these people, okay? And I’m sure they don’t want or need to hear it either, so do me a fucking favor and just keep the drinks coming,” he stares back.

Kisumi sighs deeply and acquiesces. “Okay, Sou, but I’m expecting a call later.” He waits until his friend acknowledges the request/order before he turns to Makoto.

“Time for a refill, Mako?”

 _Shit._ Makoto winces internally. He had tried to not listen in on the exchange between his new neighbor and the bartender, but doing so has been just a tad difficult. Neither of the two men had really bothered lowering their voices during the argument. Does he just pretend he didn’t hear anything? Act sympathetic?

“Mm, yes, please,” Makoto throws him a wide smile and nods enthusiastically, opting to pretend to know nothing. Or at least not care. Happy face. Easy. Kisumi smiles.

“I don’t know how you keep that _gorgeous_ figure with your sweet tooth. Seriously,” he winks as he starts to walk away.

“Very active sex life. You should try it, ” Makoto teases. He keeps the smile plastered on until he’s satisfied that Kisumi is far enough away then lets it fall off. He looks down and sighs deeply, letting his shoulders droop, swirling the remainder of his drink absently with his straw.

“You okay?” a deep voice asks a couple of minutes later. Makoto looks over at Leather Jacket -- what was his name again? -- and he meets those teal eyes, concerned now, though still looking a bit angry.

“M-Me?”

“Yeah.” a small smile pulls at a corner of Mister Leather Jacket’s mouth. “You’ve been staring at your drink since I got here.” _What. He was watching?_

“Oh. Oh! I’m fine!” Makoto waves his hands as if to dismiss the idea. “I mean, I just got caught up in thinking. Long day, you know?” He explains, laughing nervously.

“Don’t I,” his neighbor mutters, expression darkening once again. Makoto doesn’t think he’s expecting an answer but the words bubble up suddenly.

“I-, uh,” Makoto stammers. “I’m sorry.”

“Huh? What for?”

“For listening in,” Makoto admits, shame rising up his cheeks. When he doesn’t receive a response right away, he slides into a small panic, and launches into a paroxysm of hand-waving, apologies, and explanations. “I didn’t mean to, really! It’s just that you guys were _right there_ and- ,”

“It’s fine,” the other man interrupts. “I mean, it wasn’t as if we were quiet, were we? Besides, like you said, you’re _right there,_ ” pointing out how closely they’re seated.

Makoto clamps his mouth shut and breathes a sigh of relief. He composes himself and shyly extends his hand to the stranger. “Uh, I’m Tachibana Makoto, by the way, but please, just call me Makoto.”

Leather Jacket stares at the proferred hand for a second before he accepts and shakes it. “Yamazaki Sousuke. Ah- Sousuke.” His grip is strong and confident, hand surprisingly soft. “Good to meet you, Makoto.”

“Likewise, Sousuke,” Makoto replies, testing out the name. It feels...nice. “Um, thanks. For asking.”

“It’s nothing. I didn’t mean to scare you or something,” the other man responds, suddenly sheepish. “You just seemed really out of it.” Sousuke reaches up and rubs the back of his neck. “Got a little worried.”

“You _did?_ ” Makoto asks, taken aback, “About _me?_ ” _Why?_

“Professional hazard, I guess,” Sousuke mutters and shrugs.

“Professional hazard?” Makoto echoes, confused. “What kind of profession are you in that you’d worry enough about random strangers at a bar?” He smiles warmly at Sousuke then takes a sip of his drink.

His feels the lingering vise-grip on his chest loosen when Sousuke smiles back.

 _Wow._ His brain shorts out and restarts.

_Wow._

“I’m a cop,” Sousuke responds.

Makoto coughs the bit of mudslide that got caught in the breath he didn’t mean to take. “Are you now?” he manages to croak out. A worried look passes Sousuke’s face again until Makoto speaks.

“Yeah,” he lets out a chuckle. “Right around Yoyogi.”

“No shit?” Makoto leans back in his seat. “How about that? We work in the same area. I’m surprised we haven’t run into each other before.”

“You’re not a cop, though,” Sousuke states matter-of-factly, sipping his whisky.

Makoto finishes the rest of his drink and shakes his head. “Mm, no. Tokyo Fire.”

“Oh, yeah? Where at?”

“Nishishinjuku. Not too far from here,” Makoto cocks his head in the general direction of the fire department.

“Huh,” Sousuke adopts a thoughtful look. “You never know. Maybe we HAVE worked together and just never actually known,” Sousuke shrugs. “I mean, I do know a couple of guys from that house.”

“Yeah. Probably. Tokyo’s a pretty busy place,” Makoto nods in agreement.

There’s a burst of activity by the club’s entrance that distracts them both. Makoto chuckles when he realizes that the both of them were ready to move in should the commotion have turned out to be something serious. When it turns out to be nothing and the excitement dies down, Sousuke says nothing else so Makoto assumes the conversation is over. He turns back to the bar, tents his arms on the surface, and rests his chin on his hands while he waits for Kisumi to come back with his refill.

Makoto cocks his head to the side, noticing Sousuke focusing on the whisky that has been waiting in front of him. He watches Sousuke’s long, thick fingers wrap gently around the delicate glass and swirl its contents around before lifting it up toward his nose. His lips part and he breathes in the scent of the whisky.

Sousuke puts the glass back down and caps the straw in his water with the tip of his finger. He draws it out over his whisky, setting a few drops free into the glass before putting the straw back into the water. Once again, he swirls the golden brown liquid and breathes it in before finally taking a sip.

His jaw relaxes and his eyelids fall closed as he savors the whisky. Makoto stares, entranced, at Sousuke’s throat as he swallows. Makoto licks his lips involuntarily and swallows the lump that had formed in his own throat.

“Makoto,” he hears from somewhere far away. “Makoto,” closer this time, and it snaps him out of his trance. He turns to Kisumi, who is smiling innocently, handing him the new mudslide. He knows that look. And it is _not at all_ innocent.

“Th-thanks, Kissy,” he smiles, trying to compose himself quickly, afraid that Sousuke might have already noticed him shamelessly staring.

“You okay?” the bartender asks, hint of a smirk on his lips, fully realized in his eyes.

“Y-yeah! Just a long day, that’s all,” he uses the same excuse just in case. He furrows his brows at Kisumi. “Why is everyone asking me that? Do I look awful or something? Am I wearing a sign?” he looks down at his chest before looking back up at the bartender and his new acquaintance for an answer.

Kisumi ignores him and turns to Sousuke. “Oh? You made a friend, Sou?” he teases.

“It happens,” Sousuke replies, taking a longer sip of his whisky.

“Don’t lie. Your bitchy resting face scares everyone away,” continues poking at his friend. Literally poking him on the forehead. “And you walked in here with it on. I bet Makoto felt bad and asked you if you were okay.”

“Actually, no,” Makoto corrects him, noting that Kisumi seems genuinely surprised. “Sousuke was just checking to see if I was fine, which I am,” he lies, answering the two before they ask again.

“Oh? Sou playing detective, is he?” Kisumi asks playfully.

“I _am_ a detective, asshole,” he corrects his friend, who is definitely surprised.

“You got promoted?” Sousuke raises his eyebrows and smirks to confirm. “Well, shit. When did this happen and why didn’t you tell me, jackass?” Kisumi grabs a shot glass and measures out a drink for himself.

“They just told me this morning. Official on the first. Haven’t told anyone else yet. Chill,” Sousuke shoots back.

“Wow. I get the news before the hubby? I feel special!” Kisumi gushes. “You guys better make up soon so you can tell him,” Kisumi commands.

Makoto sees Sousuke’s smile waver but recover fast enough for Kisumi to miss as he puts the bottle away and picks up the shot glass.

“A toast, then!” He looks at Makoto and invites him to join in. “ You too, cutie. We’re all friends here.” He turns back to Sousuke. “To Detective Yamazaki. Congratulations and please don’t ever arrest me.”

“You better pay me some good money for that,” Sousuke jokes as everyone lifts their drinks and clinks their their glasses together.

“What _is_ that?” Sousuke asks after he swallows his drink, nodding his head toward the hurricane glass full of creamy goodness in Makoto’s hands.

“Mudslide,” Kisumi jumps in to answer for him. “Vodka, Irish Cream, Kahlua--,”

“--and whatever magic Kisumi adds to it,” Makoto interrupts. “Seriously, it’s the best!” he raves. His eyes flutter closed as he sips greedily through the large straw. “Sooooo good,” he adds a couple of seconds later. When he opens his eyes, both Sousuke and Kisumi are staring at him, the former’s eyes wide and mouth agape, while the latter is simply grinning in amusement.

“W-what?” Makoto asks suddenly anxious.

“Oh my god, Mako,” Kisumi is laughing now. “You should have seen what you looked like when you were sucking on that straw.”

“When I was--,” Oh.

“Oh,” he says out loud, followed by a quick reddening of the face that he tries to hide behind his large hands. “Oh, my god!” he whimpers through them.

“Your lucky, lucky husband, Mako," Kisumi continues. He leans over and whispers conspiratorially, "Seriously, would you believe me if I said I was full of chocolate?”

“Oh, god, Kisumi. _Stop._ ” Makoto begs his friend.

“Honey, you were _moaning._ ”

Makoto braves a peek through his fingers. Kisumi is still snickering at him but Sousuke has kindly turned back to the bar, lips pressed together as if trying to hold back his own laughter.

Makoto drops his hands to his lap. “Not you too!” he croaks out, trying to scold Sousuke as well, and failing.

To his credit, Sousuke’s response was more...tactful than Kisumi’s. “I’m sorry, Makoto.” He takes a deep breath and straightens his face before turning to the poor, embarrassed man. “It really was-,” he cast about, looking for the right words but finding none that seemed appropriate enough.. “It was -- surprising,” he finally settles. This mollifies Makoto a bit, until Sousuke turns away and follows up with,

“I can’t really disagree with Kisumi’s assessment, though.”

Makoto groans another exasperated “Oh my god,” as he drops his head onto the bar and tries to hide under his arms. “I’m going home,” he whines, forgetting why he wasn’t there in the first place.

Kisumi ruffles Makoto’s already unkempt brown hair and giggles one more time. “Come on, sweetie. You know I’m teasing.”

“I know,” Makoto mumbles into the bar, then lifts his head suddenly, turning it toward Sousuke, “But _you!_ We just met!”

“I really am sorry, Makoto,” Sousuke gives him a sincere smile. “I don’t mean to embarrass you. Kisumi’s just _such_ a bad influence.”

“Hey!” the bartender pouts.

Makoto considers this or a moment and, finding himself in agreement, finally sits back up, the warmth in his face subsiding.

“Tell you what,” Sousuke turns to Kisumi, “how about I pay for Makoto’s ice cream factory explosion?”

Makoto starts to object but Sousuke gives him a look that makes him change his mind.

“O-okay. Thanks, Sousuke.”

“No worries. I owe you at least this much, right?” the eyes crinkle into another smile and Makoto feels another blush coming.

“Sousuke,” Kisumi says, voice stern but is obviously teasing, “stop hitting on poor Mako here.”

“What?” The two customers respond in unison, surprised at the accusation. Kisumi points to both men’s left hands to indicate each of their wedding rings but stops cold when he looks at Sousuke’s. Makoto follows his line of sight and sees that Sousuke’s ring finger is bare.

Kisumi’s smile falters. He bends closer to Sousuke and his next words sound ominous to Makoto. “It’s serious this time, isn’t it?” he asks, voice low.

Sousuke says nothing, pulling his hand back and averting his eyes from the look of concern that Kisumi sends him.

A customer at the other end of the bar calls Kisumi’s attention. The tall bartender stretches out to his full height and lets out a frustrated huff. “You better call me later, Sou,” he instructs once again, more assertively this time, as he leaves.

“Tch,” Sousuke mutters, barely audible. His lips are pressed together into a thin line at the retreating bartender. Makoto is at a loss as to what to do and so opts to just sip on his own drink, minding his own space. For his part, Sousuke does the same.

* * *

They sit next to each other in silence for what seems like forever but when Makoto checks, it’s really much closer to twenty minutes. Kisumi had come back twice to bring more whisky to Sousuke, but hasn’t been back since, with traffic in the club picking up. The first time, he brought over a refill for each of them but apparently thought the better of it and just went ahead and brought back the bottle itself the second time.

Makoto has spent the entire time arguing with himself about what to do next. On one hand, he's curious to stitch together the pieces of the story of Sousuke’s failing relationship, partly because he just plain wanted to know, partly because he felt compelled to help the guy. How? Who knows? He’d figure it out, surely.

On the other hand, asking would be rude, wouldn’t it? It’s none of his business, even if he’d already heard some of it. Even if they apparently both shared a long-term friendship with Kisumi. _That’s not even a logical reason, Makoto._ But more important, Sousuke wasn’t even talking to his good friend about it, let alone some guy he just met at the bar.

But he can’t leave it alone. Here’s this guy, dealing with his shit alone at the bar, drinking himself to oblivion as a solution. That just seemed like a poor idea.

_But that’s what you were doing, wasn’t it? And you’re finally getting drunk now, aren’t you?_

Makoto tells the little voice in his head to fuck off. He looks over at the man next to him. More than his own, he has always been compelled to take care of everyone’s problems. Even in the dim lighting, Makoto can see Sousuke’s jaw clenching, teal eyes glazed over and staring at nothing. He knows Sousuke is lost in whatever self-destructive thoughts are swirling in his head and Makoto can’t fight the compulsion to take him away from them.

Makoto nervously decides to break the silence. “Will _you_ be okay?” He asks quietly, staring at his drink. “I mean, I’m not asking you to pour your heart out to me or anything. I -- ugh, god, I’m sorry! I’m being such a busybody!” He looks over and softens his voice again. “You just look so upset. I couldn’t--”

“It’s fine, Makoto,” Sousuke reassures him with a warm, though sad, smile. “Thank you.” He pauses for a few seconds. Makoto figures that Sousuke is probably done talking, but the thanks makes him feel better about the silence.

“I guess I don’t know, really.” He finally responds, his lips pressed together into a tight, mirthless smile. “Doesn’t feel like it right now.”

Makoto looks at his glass and smiles wistfully, “Well, I hope you will be.”

“Me too,” Sousuke says, voice catching in his throat.

Makoto lets the silence settle for a few moments before he speaks again.

“I’m-- we’re going through some shit. Me and my husband.” he says quietly, staring at the swirls of chocolate in his glass. _What._

In his periphery, he sees Sousuke cock his head in his direction but it seems so distant.

“I don’t even know if I want to go back home tonight.” _What are you doing?_

“Makoto…”

“I mean, he’s not even gonna be there. It’s not like I’ll see him.” _Stop._

He can’t. The words are pushing against his throat. They want to come out and Makoto doesn’t have the energy to hold them back anymore. Sousuke says nothing. It’s as if he’s bracing for the wave he knows is coming.

When the words come, they’re barely strung together, but coherent enough.

“Stopped by his office,” he chokes out. “Take him...Surprise dinner. Anniversary next week but he’s leaving for a conference tomorrow so we’ll miss it,” he explains, trying to get through the ordeal as fast as possible but failing, as he has to stop and gulp down the lumps in his throat.

“Lights out front were off. Maybe I missed him, right? But the door was unlocked so I went in. I heard- ,” his voice cracks.

He clenches his fists on the bar and takes a deep breath, willing himself to continue. To purge himself of the poison quickly eating away at his insides.

“His office,” he starts. He swallows yet another lump that had formed in his throat and pushes out the rest of the story through gritted teeth. “His assistant...”

“He was fucking his assistant.”

The scene plays through so vividly his mind. He feels the cool, conditioned air of the office. Smells the familiar antiseptics and anaesthetics, the lingering scent of clove oil. Hears the muffled gasps from the far corner office, louder as he approaches. Hears the rhythmic smack of skin against skin. Sees from the dim hallway the naked form of _his own husband_ shoving his cock into someone decidedly _not_ Makoto. Feels his heart disintegrate from the crushing weight on his chest. Feels his skin grow cold and numb.

He remembers backing away, tiptoeing back out of the building and closing the door quietly, leaving the oblivious couple to their bliss in the office.

The tears are burning his eyes. He can’t stop them, neither the scene in his mind nor the tears, so he just lets them go.

He crosses his arms on the bar and cradles his forehead against them, sobbing into the folded cuffs of the white button-down shirt he’d worn for tonight’s dinner. The unexpected weight of the hand on his back startles him but he quickly relaxes into its warmth as it rubs comforting circles against his shirt.

When he feels that the worst is over, Makoto lifts his head up and wipes at his eyes. He turns to Sousuke to thank him -- and apologize while he's at it -- but stops short when he sees the other man’s face.

Even in the dim club lighting, Makoto can see the puffy, red eyes and the tears staining the other man’s cheeks.

“Sousuke…,” he starts, voice thick, instinctively reaching up to wipe the tears from Sousuke’s face. “I’m sorry…, ” he sniffs.

Sousuke smiles at him, not at all flinching from Makoto’s touch. He shakes his head and bends down toward Makoto’s shoulder. “Don’t apologize, Makoto,” Sousuke breathes in his ear. Makoto’s heart leaps to his throat. He takes a slow, deep breath, gathering his scattered thoughts and emotions and forcing himself to come back to reality.

“But you’ve got your own problems,” he protests.

The hand on his back slides up to his shoulder as Sousuke sits back up. He feels it rest on his cheek, thumb brushing away the last few tears that had fallen. Sousuke shakes his head, giving him a reassuring smile.

“It’s okay, Makoto. The divorce has been coming for a long time.”

Makoto leans into the hand on his cheek and reaches up to touch it. He keeps his gaze on Sousuke and Sousuke does the same with him, all others around them forgotten. He notes how kind those blue-green eyes are right now, the anger from earlier non-existent. Makoto smiles his thanks to the other man. His shoulders are still heavy and chest still tight but this erstwhile stranger had cried for him, with him, and picked at least some of that weight off of him. Who does that?

 _You_ do that. His inner voice is sounds foreign. Like it was some other voice altogether. Almost like-

His eyes widen at Sousuke but he closes them and takes another deep breath before the embarrassment settles in. Sousuke pulls his hand away from his cheek, shifting it so that he’s holding Makoto’s hand instead. When Makoto opens his eyes and looks back at him, the look has changed, still kind but also determined. Like he’s made some sort of decision.

“Let’s get out of here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title courtesy of [Frank Sinatra.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hlSbSKNk9f0)
> 
> Hey, strangers, let's chat on [Tumblr.](http://idontevenswim.tumblr.com)


	3. Two Less Lonely People

As it turns out, Sousuke’s (and his husband’s) rather large apartment isn’t that far from Shade, maybe ten, fifteen minutes on foot, by Makoto’s estimation. He can’t be quite sure, though. A few blocks after they walked out of the club, Sousuke pulled Makoto into an alley where they made out shamelessly against the wall of a convenience store and he’d lost track of time.

When they stepped back out into the sidewalk, they looked none the worse for wear, save for redder, puffier lips and the beginnings of a bruise just below the collar of Makoto’s button-down shirt. They strode down the streets wordlessly the rest of the way, the contented silence between them weighed down only by the tension of sexual energy. They otherwise looked like just another two people walking around in Tokyo on a Friday night.

The walk — and the kissing, too, he supposed — helped clear Makoto’s head a bit, pushing away most of the scene that had played in there and brought him to tears in front of this stranger. In public, at that. But whatever scruples he might have had before had gone. He knew exactly what was happening — what was about to happen — and tonight, he _needs_ this to happen.

Sousuke had left a stack of bills on the bar, ignoring Makoto’s protests to pay for his own drinks. “Kisumi’ll take care of anything else,” Sousuke reassured him before leading him out.

Kisumi caught Makoto’s eye as he and Sousuke were walking out. Makoto sent him a weak smile while Kisumi simply raised an eyebrow, smirked, and waved.

* * *

Sousuke’s apartment building is impressive. The apartment itself — what Makoto has seen of it anyway — is sleek and spacious, decorated in black leather, steel, and glass, on the 49th floor of one of the taller buildings in the area. Either Sousuke’s husband makes a _lot_ of money or Sousuke wasn’t kidding about getting paid to not arrest people. There wasn’t much opportunity for him to check the place out when they got there, however. No sooner than they had walked in and the door closed behind them did he find himself pinned against it with a face full of Sousuke.

Makoto only hesitates a moment — his breath literally taken away by the force of his back slamming against the door — but he quickly surrenders to the press of Sousuke’s kisses. Sousuke’s tongue flicks against his lower lip, requesting entrance. Makoto obliges, parting his lips and sucking on Sousuke’s tongue eagerly. He tastes faintly of whisky, Irish cream, and Kahlua.

“You okay?” Sousuke pants against his lips when they finally part. It’s a two-sided question, asking about his state of mind and for his permission all at once. For all the frustration he has at stopping, Makoto genuinely appreciates the gesture. He turns his eyes up and blinks. They never turned the lights on so it’s still too dark to see clearly, the apartment only illuminated by the ambient light of the city through the tall windows. Sousuke is bathed in shadow but Makoto is positive the other man can see his face just fine.

“Yes,” he answers in a low growl. “God, yes. I want this, Sousuke.” He brings his mouth down onto Sousuke’s neck and sinks his teeth into the hard muscle just above his collarbone. The gasp he draws tightens the knot that has formed deep in his gut, further hardening his already stiff cock.  “I want _you_ ,” he repeats against Sousuke’s skin, biting down harder, ensuring his point is made.

The floodgates open. Sousuke responds to him with his own growl, his fingers grasping Makoto’s hair and pulling him off of his neck, only to crush their mouths together in a tangle of lips and tongue and teeth. Makoto yields, the raw, feral response a rip current pulling him out to sea.

Fingers tug at the buttons on his shirt, clumsily trying to unfasten them. Sousuke’s teeth sink into his lip, an exasperated snarl punctuating his slight annoyance. The light clatter of plastic on the hardwood is counterpoint to the sounds of their heavy breathing and shortly after, Makoto’s shirt is open. Tendrils of heat spiral out from where fingers meet his skin, exploring his chest and stomach, grabbing at his sides, scratching at his back. Makoto is so hard already, straining against the cloth of his pants. Sousuke grinds against him, leaving no doubt that he’s in the same state.

Makoto runs his hands up Sousuke’s chest, pushing the leather jacket gently, but quickly off Sousuke’s shoulders. He plants a hungry kiss on Sousuke’s lips as he hears it fall to the ground while his hands busily try to pull the T-shirt off next. Sousuke offers no objections, raising his arms to accommodate him. The shirt likewise finds itself discarded unceremoniously, followed by two pairs of shoes, to keep the leather jacket company.

Sousuke leans down to suck on Makoto's lip once more before taking him by the hand and leading him through the apartment, down the hallway, and past unidentified rooms. Sousuke lets go of his hand when they finally walk into a large room, the centerpiece of which is a king-sized bed. Like the main room, an entire wall is taken up by floor-to-ceiling windows with a view of the city. Any other night, the cityscape would have taken Makoto’s breath away, but something else holds his attention this night. Sousuke continues to walk toward the near nightstand, and flicks on the lamp, casting a warm glow on the room—

Makoto stops breathing.

Hungry eyes take in the the expanse of Sousuke’s back, ass, legs, arms, and — as he turns around — chest, each plane and curve and dip accentuated by the lamplight. His gaze travels down to Sousuke’s perfectly sculpted stomach and shamelessly, obediently follows the V directing him further down. He stops on the bulge at the front of Sousuke’s pants and swallows.

“I guess you don’t do the whole donuts and coffee thing, huh?” he jokes. _Oh, god, that was awful, Mako._

Sousuke smirks as he approaches, perhaps at the joke, perhaps at Makoto. Or maybe it's that he's making it no secret that he, too, is eagerly —  lecherously — eyeing Makoto’s exposed muscles.

“Sweets aren’t really my thing,” he murmurs, lifting Makoto’s chin and kissing him softly, swiping his tongue across Makoto’s bottom lip, a half-smile playing along his mouth. “But I make exceptions every once in a while.”

He takes Makoto’s lips again, hands slipping inside Makoto’s shirt and pulling it off of him, abandoning it on the floor. His hands drift down and start undoing Makoto’s belt as they move toward the bed. Makoto follows suit, fingers slipping between the waist of Sousuke’s jeans and his skin, but when he tries to unbutton the jeans, Sousuke pulls his hands away.

“No,” he purrs, breath hot against Makoto’s lips. “Let me do this.” Sousuke’s fingers slide back into Makoto’s pants, brushing against the tip of his dick. Makoto’s breath catches as the button and zipper come undone. Sousuke looks down and raises an appreciative eyebrow; Makoto is fully erect, head peeking out of the waistband of tight bikini briefs. Sousuke sits on the edge of the bed, leaving Makoto standing in front of him, hard cock at eye level. He places his hands on Makoto’s hips, fingers digging into the hard muscles of his ass and leans in, watching Makoto through long, dark lashes.  He runs his tongue over the exposed tip, licking off the pearl of precum forming there.

Makoto moans, a shock of pleasure shooting up his spine.  Another lick. He gasps and grabs a handful of dark brown hair, arcing his back and pushing his hips toward Sousuke’s mouth, begging for more. Sousuke obliges, once again licking the head, then sliding his lips over it, his mouth pushing the fabric of the briefs just below the crown.

“Fff- _fuck- mmm,_ Sou-,” he’s having a hard time forming words. Sousuke’s mouth is hot and wet around him, firm tongue tracing circles against the groove at its tip. He wants to free himself and have Sousuke take in his entirety but he’s sure that Sousuke would just stop him in favor of teasing as he’s doing now. Fine. He can let Sousuke have his fun for now.

Fortunately, he doesn’t have to wait long. Sousuke sucks on the head one more time before pulling it out of his mouth. Makoto looks down at him, their eyes locking as Sousuke leans back and licks his lips.

Makoto rolls his hips forward in an unspoken expectation — demand, even — for Sousuke to keep going. There is a playful defiance in Sousuke’s gaze, as if he’s thinking of prolonging the torment, before he slowly, wordlessly pulls both the brief and pants down, letting them fall to the floor. Sousuke breaks eye contact, moving his gaze down and staring.

“Makoto...,” Sousuke murmurs, almost reverently. There is no teasing smile; only lips parted in wonder. He moves a hand from Makoto’s hip, fingers caressing the freshly-shaved skin all around the base of Makoto’s cock. A jolt runs through Makoto from the point where Sousuke’s fingers make contact. He gasps at the touch, eyelids fluttering. When he looks back down, Sousuke is looking up at him — grinning — like a child who’d just opened his present.

Makoto relaxes a bit, grinning back and stepping out of his pants and briefs. He reaches down, fingers caressing Sousuke’s chiseled jaw, thumb brushing a cheekbone, running over kiss-swollen lips. His smile falters as yet another wave of heat passes through him, thrumming desire on his skin. His thumb and forefinger press lightly into Sousuke’s cheeks, urging his mouth open while Makoto guides himself into it. Sousuke readily complies, eager lips and tongue taking the hard length into its wet heat.

Sousuke’s moan pulses through his lips and along Makoto’s sensitive flesh. Makoto's breath grows shallow and more ragged, fingers curling tight into Sousuke's dark locks.

"Fuck," Makoto’s sharp exclamation is barely above a whisper. "Sou-, aahhh…," he whimpers as he watches Sousuke’s hands on his hips, drawing him in until he feels Sousuke's throat against the tip of his cock and his lips tighten around its base. A rush of blood pulses through his groin and both of them moan.

Makoto closes his eyes as Sousuke pulls back on his length and comes back down. He's taking his time, his pace torturously slow, practically devoid of the urgency of only a few minutes, even a few seconds, before. Makoto rocks his hips forward, moving to Sousuke's rhythm, moans and whispers occasionally escaping his parted lips.

His eyes open just as Sousuke pulls back one more time and releases him. He finds Sousuke staring at his groin once more, fingers of one hand caressing the smooth skin that has entranced him so while the other wraps lightly around his cock.

"God, I want you. Right now," Sousuke looks up at him and sucks lightly on the head. The hot need coiling inside Makoto tightens.

Makoto licks his lips. He holds Sousuke’s gaze, kneeling down in front of him. Sousuke releases a ragged breath, shivering as Makoto's hands skim down his chest and stomach to unbutton his pants. "I need-, let me taste you."

Sousuke gives him a slight nod, bracing himself on the bed to lift his hips for Makoto to pull off his jeans. Makoto's breath stops for a moment as Sousuke's cock is freed from its confines, red and throbbing, its tip wet with precum.

Makoto’s mouth waters. He swallows, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth when it occurs to him that Sousuke hadn't been wearing anything else under those pants. He turns his eyes up at Sousuke, who leans back on his elbows, panting lightly in anticipation.

Makoto bends down and runs the flat of his tongue along the back of Sousuke’s shaft, finishing with a lick at the wetness at the tip. "Ffffuuck...," Sousuke hisses, rolling his hips toward Makoto's waiting mouth.

With his free hand, Makoto pushes against Sousuke, stopping his roll and effectively restraining him. He hears a groan of protest. Makoto simply smiles to himself and closes his lips around Sousuke's cock, greedily sucking the salty-sweet ambrosia welling from its tip. “Mmm...so good," Makoto moans. "You taste so, so good." He brings his head down and takes the entire length into his throat before sucking his way back up, moaning all the while. Sousuke groans more loudly than he did a few seconds earlier.

Makoto's eyes flutter closed as he sucks, and lets his other senses savor Sousuke.

The taste, the tautness of that skin, its weight against his tongue.

The scent of his skin blending with the faint scents of cologne and alcohol.

The sound of Sousuke's shallow breathing. The gasp, the whimper, as Makoto's tongue swirls around the head.

Makoto opens his eyes when Sousuke moans again.

“ _Yes._ Mmm...that's right,” he urges. “Let me hear you, Sousuke.” He suckles on the head of Sousuke’s cock some more, then bobs up and down his length slowly until Sousuke obliges him, moans and gasps falling freely from his lips. And when he does, Makoto lets the hunger take over, sucking as if he’d never get the chance again.

Makoto grinds his hips forward involuntarily at the echoes of Sousuke's needy noises. He feels the familiar heat pulse through him and move the weight at his groin and he’s suddenly aware of the lack of Sousuke's mouth around it.  He moves his hand from the base of  Sousuke’s cock and grasps his own, stroking lightly as his mouth continues to work on Sousuke.

"M-mako-," Makoto smiles to himself as Sousuke's voice breaks and trails off into uneven breaths while he hungrily takes his taste of Sousuke’s cock. Sousuke's so deliciously hard right now that Makoto has to remind himself that he'll need to stop before too long and give him a reprieve lest he come too soon.

Makoto finally pulls away, panting softly as he lets go of his own cock. He looks up at Sousuke, who has fallen back on the bed, arm thrown over his eyes. Sousuke's skin is flushed and his chest heaving as he tries to find his breath. The sight forces a groan from Makoto's throat. He loosens his hold on Sousuke's hip and strokes small circles by his hipbone. Sousuke moves his arm just enough to peer back.

“ _Fuck...,_ ” he says between breaths. “What you do with that mouth. I was starting to think I would have to make you stop.” Makoto gives him a satisfied half-smile.

"And I _really_ don't know that I could have,” he adds after a couple more breaths.

Makoto grins and reassures him with a kiss on the thigh before he stands, his erection a stark reminder for Sousuke to sit up himself.

“How do you want to do this?” Makoto asks, voice low and gravelly. Sousuke traces a finger along the length of Makoto’s cock, placing a light kiss on its tip.

“ _Damn,_ Makoto,” he breathes against it. “I w-,” Sousuke hesitates briefly before turning his eyes up. They are full of lust, dark, and sure. "Fill me up."

A small, sharp breath. Makoto’s eyes widen a little.

Sousuke seems to have caught his surprise. He kisses the tip one more time before asking, "Please." His voice is thick. Hungry. _Fuck. Fuck, yes._

Makoto's hands cradle Sousuke's jaw as he bends down to kiss him. "Sousuke," he breathes against Sousuke's lips. "If you want me to fuck you, then I’ll fuck you. As much as you want. However you want."

Sousuke groans and smiles against Makoto’s lips. He pats the pillows at the head of the bed and Makoto crawls over to sit against the headboard while Sousuke reaches quickly into the nightstand. He pulls out a small towel, lube, and a strip of condoms, all of which he places on the bed.

Makoto chuckles, raising an eyebrow at the condoms. “Planning a long night?” he teases.

“Maybe,” Sousuke smirks as he tears off one of the packets and tosses it to Makoto. “Hang on to this.” Makoto sets it nearby while Sousuke crawls over him and straddles his legs. Makoto’s lips part in anticipation as he watches Sousuke pop the bottle open, squirt some out onto his fingers, and finally reach behind himself.

Sousuke drops the bottle on the bed and sighs as he slips a finger inside while Makoto holds his own breath. Sousuke arches against him, their dicks rubbing against each other while he starts to grind gradually onto his finger.

They moan simultaneously when Makoto wraps his hand around both their cocks, coating them with lube. Makoto tightens his fingers around them but otherwise keeps still, letting Sousuke control the movements as he gets himself ready. Sousuke extends his free hand, bracing himself against the headboard, rocking his hips back and forth between Makoto’s hand and his own. He closes his eyes and rolls his head back in pleasure but Makoto reaches behind his neck, pulling him forward for a kiss. “Mm-mm, no, Sousuke,” he murmurs against Sousuke’s swollen lips. “Keep your eyes on me.”

Sousuke nods and presses his forehead against Makoto’s, two pairs of ravenous eyes connecting. Makoto slides a hand down his back, settling on Sousuke’s ass and squeezing. Sousuke stops for a moment, gasping and biting down on his lower lip as he slips a second finger in, before resuming his gyrations. Makoto groans, his impatient cock aching to replace those fingers. He tilts his head up and kisses Sousuke, swallowing the moans that now more freely fall from his mouth.  

“Let me help you?” Makoto asks huskily between kisses, finger stroking Sousuke’s hand. Sousuke moans a breathy “okay,” encouraging Makoto to run his finger along his slick entrance. Sousuke’s fingers move in and out, twisting and stretching against the hole. Makoto briefly debates the merits of having Sousuke turn around so he can watch versus missing the looks of wanton lust on his face. And having that mouth on his.

“Just-, just tell me when,” Makoto whispers, finding it harder and harder to keep his gaze connected with Sousuke’s. Sousuke can only nod.

“Now,” Sousuke groans a few minutes later. “ _Now,_ ” he says again, more insistent. He spreads his fingers, giving Makoto the room to slip his middle finger in. One knuckle, then two, until finally, Sousuke takes the whole thing. Sousuke breathes out, eyes finally closing, grinding his ass up against Makoto with each press inward. He is so wet and warm and _open_. Almost ready.

Makoto presses his finger against Sousuke’s slick walls when Sousuke suddenly jerks, a  surprised “ _Fuck!_ ” forced from his lips. A triumphant half-smile tugs at a corner of Makoto’s mouth and he teases around the spot that drew the reaction. Sousuke groans, involuntarily pushing his hips backward. He clenches his jaw and levels a warning gaze to Makoto. “Not yet,” he grits through his teeth.

“I won’t,” Makoto promises and backs off, smiling.

It isn’t much longer before Sousuke is ready.  They clean up and Makoto puts the condom on quickly. Sousuke holds on to Makoto’s shoulder for support as he squats, his other hand guiding Makoto’s cock to his entrance,  and slowly lowers himself down onto it.

“Ahhh...shit, Sou-, nnnghhh… _fuck,_ ” The sounds just slip out of Makoto’s mouth. There’s no helping it. Sousuke’s so tight, so hot around around him. He may well not last long at this rate.

Sousuke hisses out his own few choice curses as he settles down on Makoto’s hips, burying Makoto’s cock in his ass. “ _Fuck,_ Makoto,” he pants as he gets used to the sensation of being stretched out. “Fuck,” he says again when he rolls his hips forward, drawing Makoto from inside himself. “You’re so fucking-, aaahhh…”

Makoto shivers and groans as Sousuke takes him to the hilt and pulls away again, slowly working up to a faster tempo. He watches the pure want — no, _need_ — grow on Sousuke’s face with every movement and all he wants to do is give him _everything._

Sousuke slows and leans back, propping himself up on Makoto’s thighs, and starts moving again. Makoto stares, seeing more clearly how he disappears as Sousuke impales himself on his cock, faster, harder. Sousuke’s own rigid dick bounces against his stomach and coats it with wet smears of precum. Makoto reaches out to stroke him but once again, Sousuke stops his hand.

“J-just y-you…”

This ache in his groin is suddenly unbearable yet it is such sweet, delicious pain. Makoto groans loudly and grabs Sousuke’s hips, pushing him down while Makoto thrusts up and into him.

“You...want. To come...like _this?_ ” he asks, driving particularly harder and deeper on the last word.

“Ah. AH, _FUCK! Mako- YES,_ ” Sousuke cries out before his words deteriorate into a series of grunts and moans and whimpers. 

Makoto’s voice joins his and for a long while — longer than Makoto thought it would be — the bedroom is filled with the sounds of their cries, the slap of skin against skin, the soft, slurping noises as he loses himself inside Sousuke.

“M-ma— , ahhh... _Mako!_ ” Sousuke’s cries seem so far away but they are different. More urgent. They pull Makoto back, if only for a moment. “I-, I-..., ah, FUCK! Oh. _God…,_ ” Makoto opens his eyes — though he doesn’t remember when he’d closed them. Sousuke is leaning over him again, his hard cock against Makoto’s stomach. The look on his face—

“Come, Sousuke,” Makoto urges, thrusting even faster, plunging all the way in. “Come for m—,”

Sousuke cuts him off, muffling a yell with a bite on his shoulder and shudders, clenching around Makoto. He comes _hard,_  hot streaks shooting out all over their stomachs and chests, some drops splashing on Makoto’s chin and cheek. Makoto clutches Sousuke’s hips and with a few more thrusts follows him with a roar, back arched and hips frozen in midair, twitching with each wave that spurts from his cock.

Makoto eases himself out of Sousuke and relaxes back onto the bed when it’s all over. He reaches up to his face, wipes of the cum with a finger, and licks it off, moaning softly. Sousuke smiles and kisses him before rolling onto his back next to him, groaning with the effort. Both are quiet, save for their heavy breaths.

Sousuke lets out a chuckle a minute later. “Should clean up,” he muses, looking down at his chest then at Makoto’s.

“Mm,” Makoto responds lazily, eyes closed. He feels around next to him until he finds the towel and hands it to Sousuke. He touches his own chest, tips of his fingers running across the now-cooled and sticky streaks. “You made a mess, Detective,” he says quietly, pretending to scold.

“I didn’t do that alone, Mister I’ll-fuck-you-however-you-want,” Sousuke retorts. Makoto grins, opening his eyes when he feels Sousuke moving next to him. Sousuke has propped himself up on his side and is starting to wipe him down.

“I suppose not,” he concedes, still grinning, the post-sex haze clearing away.

Sousuke finishes cleaning him off and gets up from the bed, walking towards a door Makoto hadn’t paid attention to earlier. “I’m going to take a shower,” he says. He pauses and turns his head to Makoto. His expression is unreadable, save for the predatory glint in his eyes. “You’re welcome to join me.”

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for being so patient, you folks who've been waiting for months. 
> 
> This chapter's title brought to you by [Air Supply.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lRvrbDVYdAA) 
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> [Let's talk about messy, sexy things.](http://idontevenswim.tumblr.com)


End file.
